Homecoming
by klonoafan5
Summary: It's time for them to come home. (Written on October 14th, 2019)


Mrs. Afton was sitting in her house, a house once filled with smiles and laughter now empty and cold.

Then there was a knock.

Surprised at the sudden noise, she got up from her chair and the TV. She walked up to the door and opened it. She froze when her eyes met with an older man supporting a hooded person.

"Hello, Michelle." He greeted. "May we come in?"

**"Get up." **

Michael groaned, his eyes peered to see the dark-eyed doppelgänger glaring at him.

"Make me." He muttered.

His body jolted as a surge of electricity coursed through it.

"What the hell, Ennard?"

The robot scowled. **"Quit your whining, Mike. It was just a little controlled shock. You need to get up."**

"And why should I? The deed is already done," he retorted. "William is dead. For real this time-"

**"Your mother is waiting."**

He stopped. "...M-Mom?"

**"Yes. Henry saved our life and got us here. And if I can remember far enough, you promised that you were going to see her after your 'business' was over. And it is.** **So wake your lazy ass up and go to her already."**

"Such profanity!" The brunette muttered, smiling. "Who would ever teach you such vile vocabulary?"

**"You did. Now stop stalling and wake up already."**

Mike rolled his eyes. "Sometimes I wonder how we became friends after everything we've been through."

**"That is something that keeps me up at night."** Ennard grumbled, but the smile on their-on _his_-face told a different story.

He gave them a smile back, took a deep breath, and closed his eyes.

The feeling that aroused him wasn't the hot sensation of flame nor the painful shock of electricity but rather warm and inviting like...

Blankets?

Still half-asleep, he let out a groan as he got up from bed. He was about to rub his eyes until they met with bandages wrapped around his left hand. His eyebrows furrowed as he scanned his body from head to toe, taking notes on his changed attire.

He then examined the bedroom but stopped once he saw the familiar sight of a guitar sitting on a corner of the wall. _His _guitar.

And there was _his _posters pinned on the walls, along with the drawings that Sammy and Elizabeth made for _him _(he could still see their smiles), _his _high school and college diplomas sitting on _his_ desk...everything he owned before the incident—before he knew the truth about his father—were still here. As if all of it never happened to begin with.

He eyed one of the framed pictures on top of his drawers and picked up. It was your typical family photo. The four of them together, smiling like they lived under a safe and healthy environment.

What a joke.

In a fit of rage, he threw the picture towards the wall, shattering the glass. As his anger grew, he pushed all of his knickknacks and pictures off the drawer, tore out his posters and ripped them into pieces.

(He tried to commit the same act with the drawings, but couldn't bear to do so. He tries his best not to think about them.)

He grabbed the guitar, lifting it over his head, ready to swing it onto the floor over and over till it was _broken_ _and_ **_shattered_** _just like him-_

"Mike?"

He froze. Then he turned around, his eyes white slits surrounded by black. A woman looked back. A woman with short brown hair like his own and soft blue eyes like the little brother he lost.

_Mom? _

The poor widow stared, her face aghast in disbelief. A loud thunk came from the guitar as she began to approach the young man before her.

If he could've been able to turn back time, he would change this first encounter.

"Oh heavens, look at you…" She muttered, her eyes observing him from head to toe.

_No...Don't come closer… _

"You certainly have grown up so fast, but I can tell."

Chills went down his back, feeling her gentle touch cup his cheek.

"You're still the same little boy I've raised all these years."

And he knew the moment he saw the tender and tearful look in those blue eyes…

After all those hard, long days, searching and fighting...

He was finally home.

"M..Mom…" He cried, the monotone voice cracking at the seams.

The two embraced each other, his body trembling as she held him in her arms. Tight yet gentle, as if he were a man made of glass that was close to breaking.

But slowly, like all wounds, the cracks will heal. Starting with this.


End file.
